


A Declaration of Intention

by OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl



Series: Romance in the Apocalypse [1]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:43:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl/pseuds/OriginalImpossibleSouffleGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lieutenant, what is meant by the phrase ‘hooking up’?”</p>
<p>Abbie choked on her burger, only regaining a bit of composure after a couple of pats on the back from Crane and a small drink of water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Declaration of Intention

**Author's Note:**

> A drabble I wrote for my very good friend a while ago. Previously posted on Tumblr because that is where I live.

“Lieutenant, what is meant by the phrase ‘hooking up’?”

Abbie choked on her burger, only regaining a bit of composure after a couple of pats on the back from Crane and a small drink of water.

“I’m sorry?” she asked.  
  
Crane, surmising that the phrase may not be referring to an innocent act, faltered a bit.  
  
“I overheard it said by Miss Jenny the other day and was curious as to its meaning. It suggests a connection of some kin—oh.”  
  
“Yeah. Exactly,” Abbie said, trying to contain a laugh. She resumed eating, assuming that avenue of conversation closed.  
  
Crane, however, seemed to ponder the topic some more.  
  
“Am I right in presuming that this… _connection_ … is of a casual nature?”  
  
Abbie sighed, putting her burger down. Obviously this conversation wasn’t going away. It was now her job to give the only guy living who’d had a bicentennial birthday The Talk. God obviously had a sense of humor.  
  
“Yeah. Premarital, usually… Mostly done in your teens or early twenties.”  
  
“Have _you_ ever…?”  
  
“Oh, no, we’re not talking about that. Ever. Eat your burger.”  
  
Crane picked up his burger but still hesitated.  
  
“Crane?”  
  
“If there is a term for the casual act, is it right to assume that there is a word for the opposite?”  
  
Abbie frowned.  
  
“I don’t know. ‘Making love,’ I suppose.”  
  
Crane made a small “hm” sound.  
  
“They didn’t call it that in your day, huh?” Abbie asked.  
  
“They did not. It seems an apt term, however.”  
  
“Sure, but a bit dead. Not a lot of people go for the romance these days. No one goes courting, for example. No poetry, no late night serenades. Those died sometime between your time and mine, I think,” Abbie said with a little bit of a sigh in her voice.  
  
Crane took that in as well, silent again for a while. When it seemed he wasn’t going to pursue the conversation further, Abbie shrugged and decided to finish her lunch.  
  
Later, when she went to reach for the check the server had set in the middle of the table, Crane caught her hand and turned it face up, gently rubbing his thumb on her palm and looking into her surprised eyes.  
  
“ _What is love? ‘Tis not hereafter;_  
 _Present mirth hath present laughter;_  
 _What’s to come is still unsure:_  
 _In delay there lies not plenty;_  
 _Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,_  
 _Youth’s a stuff will not endure._ ”  
  
He pressed a thorough kiss to her palm, released her hand, stood and walked out, leaving a stunned Abbie staring at her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I went the cliché route and went with Shakespeare. But that's because that dork Crane was asleep when all the other poems I wanted to use were written. *exasperated sigh*


End file.
